


No Shade In The Shadow Of The Cross

by reysrose



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Bartender Ronan Lynch, Biromantic Ronan Lynch, Bisexual Adam Parrish, Bisexual Richard Gansey, Blue and Ronan are not sexually attracted to each other, Blue decides to go to college, Canon Compliant through TRK, Disregards Dreamer Trilogy, Environmental Engineering Student Blue Sargent, Established Relationship, Gay Disaster Ronan Lynch, Grad Student Adam Parrish, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insecurity, Law Student Richard Gansey III, Multi, Nonsexual Blue/Ronan, OT4, Polyamory, Queerplatonic Relationships, Ronan gets his GED, Secret Romantic Ronan Lynch, but they're gross and romantic still, chronically ill male character, nonsexual intimacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25935340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reysrose/pseuds/reysrose
Summary: The Gangsey, and all the ways they love each other.
Relationships: Adam Parrish/Blue Sargent, Richard Gansey III & Ronan Lynch & Adam Parrish & Blue Sargent, Richard Gansey III/Adam Parrish, Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent, Richard Gansey III/Ronan Lynch, Richard Gansey III/Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish/Blue Sargent, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch/Blue Sargent
Comments: 12
Kudos: 61





	1. Blue and Ronan and Love

**Author's Note:**

> SO!   
> The OT4 fic even I didn't know I needed.  
> I want to make one thing very clear: Ronan Lynch is STILL gay in this. He and Blue have a personal relationship that is between romantic (romantic and sexual attraction can be different) and queer platonic. Ronan would likely identify as homosexual and bi/panromantic, but really only for Blue. They interact during group sex, but never in a way that involves sex. They kiss, but only very chastely, and they are big fans of physical affection. They will NOT be engaging in sexual activities with each other.

Orla asks her one day how she can stand to be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t love her. It’s only when her eyes cut to Ronan, who’s sprawled out sleeping on the sofa because he got a migraine and then kind of carsick on the ride down to Henrietta, that Blue realizes what she means. 

Blue doesn’t even know how to respond to her cousin, eyes darting between Ronan’s sleeping face and Orla’s raised eyebrows and the thin line of her mouth, because Orla is so wrong it’s laughable but it also makes Blue want to pull Ronan into her arms and never let go of him again. 

“What the fuck do you mean?” she blurts, taking a step toward him. Ronan’s head shifts on the pillow but his eyes don’t open. Orla rolls her eyes.

“He won’t fuck you,” she says simply, “but he’ll fuck the rest of them.”

“He’s gay,” Blue snarls, “of course we don’t have sex. Doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.”

“Sounds like it,” Orla scoffs, and then walks away. Blue stares after her, completely dumbfounded, very still in her mother’s living room and very, very furious, until Ronan’s raspy, tired voice echoes from behind her.

“Blue? Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

He’s half sitting up, propped on his elbows, face still washed out. Blue kneels next to the couch and presses a few fingers to his cheek, watching as his blue eyes lose some of their tension. He’s way less clammy than he was when they first got there, and he looks as well rested as Ronan ever looks. Blue wiggles her way onto the couch and coaxes him into laying back down in her lap, carding her fingers through his hair.

“Just my bitchy cousin,” Blue mutters, tugging at some of Ronan’s hair. Part of her wants to cry, part of her wants to follow Orla through the house and shout at her about the difference between sexual and romantic attraction, part of her wants to drag all three boys into her bedroom so that someone can fuck the frustration out of her and the other two can watch and get each other off. 

“You have so many cousins,” Ronan yawns, turning his face into her stomach, “so you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Shut up, Lynch,” Blue says. 

It makes Blue feel sick for hours, long after they’ve eaten dinner and gone to bed. Ronan and Adam are curled so tightly together Blue genuinely cannot tell where one ends and the other begins, and Gansey is still and quiet next to her, her head on his shoulder. Blue stares up at her childhood ceiling, feeling Adam’s back against her side, one of Ronan’s big hands against her ribcage, and stews. 

The idea that Ronan doesn’t love her is absurd, but people seem to think that because they don’t have sex or engage in sexual activities beyond watching while Gansey or Adam fucks the other means that their relationship is somehow less than. Blue scoffs, biting her lip when Adam twitches and mumbles something in his sleep in response to the noise. 

Ronan, who comes to her and puts his head in her lap when he’s too exhausted to sleep and can’t bring himself to disturb Adam, who lets Blue run her fingers through the unruly curls on the top of his head and over the shaved down sides. Ronan, who scrabbles for her hand when he’s overwhelmed during sex, because sometimes the gentleness of platonic touch keeps him from spiraling into emotional meltdown territory. 

Ronan, who had spent a week calling out of work in February when Blue had the flu. How gentle he’d been with her, how patient. The feeling of his hands washing her face, watching him in Gansey’s cheesy apron making bone broth because the canned stuff was too salty for her poor stomach to take. Ronan, who presses his face into her back or chest when he gets migraines, either from not sleeping or not dreaming or not drinking water or triggers that they can’t identify. She’s the person who gives him his Aimovig injections every month, without fail, because he only trusts her with that damn needle even though her hands shake when she sticks it in his thigh. 

Her Ronan, who quietly seeks out and freely gives affection. Blue thinks about the way his giant hand wraps around her little one when they’re out in public, how fiercely protective of her he can be. The way he kisses her chastely on the mouth when he drops her off at work, the care he puts in to making sure he does her laundry in a way that doesn’t ruin her less than conventional wardrobe. Ronan’s hugs, Ronan swinging her up onto his back after long, long nights at the weird clubs Gansey likes in Boston. Blue rolls onto her side and presses herself up against Adam’s back, tangling her fingers in the waistband of Ronan’s sweats.

“Sargent?”

And, in true “horrifically light sleeper Ronan Lynch” fashion, Blue’s touch jolts him out of his doze. Blue tries to snatch her hand back but Ronan grabs it and brings it to his mouth, brushing a kiss to her knuckles. 

To Blue’s humiliation, she bursts into tears.

“Aw, shit, come on Blue don’t cry-” and then he’s disentangling himself from Adam and scooping Blue up into his arms, and Blue wraps her legs around his waist and keeps crying impossibly harder into his bare shoulder as Ronan starts rubbing her back.

“Shhhh. It’s okay, it’s okay- come on, let’s go downstairs so we don’t wake up insomniacs 1 and 2.”

“You’re an insomniac too,” Blue wails as quietly as she can, and Ronan presses a kiss to her head and walks down the stairs with her in his arms. Ronan sits on the couch with her in his lap, rocking gently as she cries. He presses his cheekbone to her hair and rubs the back of her neck with long fingers until she calms down enough to go limp against him, breath still hitching with the force of her breakdown. Ronan cradles her delicately. Blue reaches for him and traces absent patterns on his bare shoulder. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Ronan murmurs. Blue nods tiredly, letting Ronan rearrange them on the couch so they’re laying down tangled together. 

“Orla thinks you don’t love me.” Blue says, and feels Ronan go very still under her.

“She thinks I don’t love you.” It’s not a question, just a statement. Ronan’s voice is dangerously flat and his arms tighten around her. 

“Since we don’t have sex,” Blue says, “She thinks you don’t love me since we don’t have sex.”

“Well that’s fucking stupid,” Ronan says, “I love you, sex or no sex.”

“I know,” Blue mumbles, “She just got in my head and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“I get it,” Ronan says, “But Blue, she’s full of shit. I am not sexually attracted to you but I still love you, sweetheart. If I didn’t love you I wouldn’t suffer through that nasty vegan place in Cambridge that you like so much at least once a week.” 

Blue laughs. It’s a watery, weak laugh, but it’s a laugh, and she feels some tension ease in her chest. Ronan reaches for the remote on the end table next to his head and flips on the beaten old TV. 

“Pick a channel,” Ronan tells her, and Blue has him turn on Parks and Rec, grabbing the tattered old blanket on the back of the couch. They wiggle around until they’re comfortable, Blue basically fully on top of Ronan. He’s over a foot taller than her and he’s wide enough that Blue can lay on top of him without touching the couch, and she giggles, brushing her nose against Ronan’s. Ronan rolls his eyes and snaps at her playfully before kissing the top of her head and tugging the blanket up higher. 

“Tell me you love me,” Blue demands sleepily. Ronan scoffs against her temple.

“I love you. Go to sleep, Maggot.”

In the morning Blue wakes up to Ronan frozen underneath her, stiff in the way that he gets when he brings something back from dreams. Adam is leaning in the doorway smiling at them as Ronan’s body relaxes and he holds up what he dreamt. It’s a tiny, glowing stone, a perfect copy of Adam’s eyes, dangling from a golden chain. A tiny crown charm fits snugly against the stone, and there’s a black resin feather next to the crown. Blue gasps when Ronan loops it over her head and kisses her dryly, a brief press of lips to her own in that Ronan way she cherishes.

“For you,” He murmurs, as they slide off the couch. Blue can hear Gansey chatting to Maura and smell cinnamon and coffee, and stands on her tip toes to kiss Adam. Adam slips his tongue into her mouth for a few seconds until she melts against him, then kisses Ronan above her head. Ronan hisses, and Blue giggles because she knows that Adam bit his lip. 

“I love it,” she says, sandwiched between Adam and Ronan, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ronan says, as they walk into the kitchen and Ronan presses Gansey up against the counter and ducks his head to kiss his shoulder. 

“Good morning, Jane,” Gansey says, disentangling him from Ronan and shoving him toward Adam good naturedly to get a hand on Blue, “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Blue says quietly, as Gansey presses a mug of coffee in her hand and she touches her new necklace with the other, “Yeah, I did.”


	2. Headaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of Ronan's chronic migraine problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! it's been a while! Sorry about that- I, like Ronan, have very serious chronic migraine issues (alongside a whole host of other disorders) and my writing energy is often fleeting. Hope you enjoy!

The first migraine hits Ronan during finals week. He’s helping Blue with flashcards because Adam is working and Gansey is taking a lab final, and they’re halfway through her intro to chem set when Blue notices how twisted his face is. Blue writes down the chemical formula of something she can’t be fucked to remember and looks at him again as he rubs the side of his face, pressing his fingers into his eye.

“You okay?” she asks, flipping the card and numbering it. Her pencil’s lead squeaks against the index card and Ronan flinches and lets out a quiet hiss. 

“Just a headache,” Ronan grunts, “Jesus, we really gotta change that lightbulb. Hit me with another stack of cards, runt.”

Blue looks up at the light above their head. It’s still shining at full brightness, but Ronan keeps squinting up at it like there’s something wrong with it. She writes down another term. Ronan places the heel of his hand against his right eye and presses.

“Go take some Advil,” Blue says absently, flipping a card, “and don’t press on your eye like that.”

Ronan does. He comes back to the table but he doesn’t start working on anything, just sits there and stares up at the light above his head. He closes one eye, then the other, then drops his head on the table. Blue switches to English. An hour later, while she’s taking notes about some weird poem by some old dead white dude, Ronan lifts his head, shoves back his chair, and stumbles into the bathroom, in too much of a hurry to close the door. Blue puts her notebook down and cranes her head to look in, recoiling when Ronan starts retching violently. 

“Fuck,” she mumbles, shoving her chair back and coming up behind him. She cups his forehead with one hand and rubs his back with the other until the heaving is just dry. When it stops completely she fills up one of the cups on the countertop so he can rinse his mouth out. He curls into her with a weak swear, and Blue scoots her back up against the bathtub so she can at least try to hold all 6 foot 3 inches of Ronan. He presses his temple to her shoulder

“Fix the fucking light,” he slurs, “It’s. Um. I-” Ronan trails off absently, and presses the palm of his hand into his eye again. The right side of his face is moving but it looks wrong, somehow, drooping but not drooping. 

“Baby,” Blue murmurs, carding her fingers through his hair, “There’s nothing wrong with the light.” Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

“Ye- uh- flick, uh, flicker-” Ronan can’t seem to figure out how to tell her what exactly is going on with the light, his head lolling against her chest as he stumbles over his words. 

“Ronan!” Blue says sharply, “Ronan!” 

“It hurts,” Ronan mumbles, looking up at her from between his fingers, face grey, “My head really hurts.”

“I’m calling Adam,” Blue says, tamping down on her panic as much as she can. Ronan groans and grabs at his face with a high whine Blue has never heard come out of him before. 

“Take him to the hospital,” Adam says sharply, once Blue has told him what’s going on. They’ve managed to move to the couch. Ronan is retching and gagging miserably into the plastic trash can from the bathroom, head in Blue’s lap when it’s not over the bin. He can barely speak, and whenever he opens his eyes he lets out awful noises. 

“I don’t think I can get him there,” Blue says, as Ronan heaves his guts up again, “I don’t think he can stand.” 

“I’ll be home soon. If he loses consciousness or stops making sense, call an ambulance, okay?”

“Adam,” Blue feels her voice break. Ronan lets out an awful sound of pain.

“I’ll be there soon, baby girl,” Adam says. 

Ronan is throwing up again when Adam comes in, crying in pain between heaves. Blue had managed to disentangle herself from him long enough to grab him a blanket, so he’s wrapped in that. He’s soaked in sweat from pain and illness, and when Adam opens the door he lets out an awful sick sound. 

“Oh, Ronan,” Adam murmurs, “Come on, baby, sit up.” 

Ronan is limp and weak, slumping into Adam’s chest. He lets out another sharp whine and Adam turns to Blue, pushing a clump of her hair back and cupping her face.

“Can you go get him some shoes, love?” Adam murmurs, “I told Gansey what’s going on. He’ll meet us there after his presentation.”

“I just wanna sleep,” Ronan sobs, as Blue slides his docs on and Adam wrestles him into a sweatshirt, “please just lemme sleep.”

“Ronan,” Adam says crisply, tugging Ronan to standing and shoving a plastic bag into his twisted hands, “It’s very possible you’re having a stroke right now. We need to go to the hospital.”

Ronan says nothing, just whimpers as Adam helps him down the stairs. Blue drives, because Ronan won’t release his grip on Adam, his head buried in Adam’s chest in the backseat. Boston traffic is a shitshow, as usual, and Blue digs her nails into the steering wheel. 

“How is he,” she snaps, because Adam hasn’t said anything in about 10 minutes and Ronan is just moaning in pain.

“Not worse,” Adam says quietly, “But this can’t be good.” 

It takes too fucking long to get to the hospital. Ronan is barely coherent, stumbling along as Adam keeps him on his feet. Blue drops them off in front of the ER and then goes to park. By the time she gets back to the waiting area the boys are nowhere to be seen.

“You have to let me back there,” she pleads, as a nurse stares her down, “I’m family, please-”

“Ma’am, we can’t let you back there until the patient is stable.”

“I have to know what’s going on,” Blue shrieks, tugging on her sweater sleeves desperately, “Please! Tell Adam who I am! He’ll let me back, please please please-”

“Blue!” 

It’s Adam, and then she’s in his arms and he’s stroking her hair as she sobs hysterically into his shirt. He smells like Ronan and Gansey and home and Blue’s knees buckle in exhaustion, adrenaline leaking out of her like a popped balloon.

“Shhhh, baby, shhhh. Come on.”

Ronan’s room is dim, and Ronan himself is curled miserably on his side, eyelids fluttering. There’s an IV drip in his arm and an emesis basin next to his head. As Blue eases herself into a chair next to his cot, Adam checks the basin and takes it to the tiny sink to rinse it out. Blue takes one of Ronan’s clammy hands in hers. 

“They’re prepping the CT scan,” Adam says as Ronan whimpers and tucks his head into his chest. He’s still in his jeans, but he’s wrapped in a hospital gown, “They’re optimistic that it isn’t a stroke but we won’t know until they scan him. Hopefully it’s just a migraine.”

“A migraine.” Blue says, disbelieving. She’s had a couple migraines, and they’ve never been this severe. Ronan rips his hand out of hers and retches, pressing both palms into the mattress to keep himself upright. His arms shake, and Adam wraps around his torso to hold him steady.

Ronan is almost strictly dry heaving now, spitting clear liquid up if he’s doing anything. Blue rubs his head. 

Gansey gets there as the nurse comes to take Ronan back for his CT scan. Ronan barely notices, curled in a wheelchair and clinging to Adam’s wrists. Adam has his eyes covered with a cool cloth, and he kisses Gansey’s cheek on their way out the door.

“What in the hell happened?” Gansey asks, looking suitably mystified and very tired. Blue just bursts into tears. 

As it turns out, Ronan is not having a stroke. It’s a very severe migraine, and the doctor authorizes the nurses to give him morphine. He sleeps heavily while they pump fluids into him, curled against Adam. Blue sits against Gansey and watches him.

“It was so scary,” she whispers, “Suddenly he was just reduced to a moaning, writhing mess on the floor and he couldn’t stop throwing up and-” 

Gansey kisses her delicately to force her to breathe. Blue puts her head on his shoulder. 

“I hope it’s over,” she whispers, “I never want to do this again.” 

The next week Ronan gets another migraine, and another, and another. They never hit the level of that first one, but within two months they’re nearly constant. Blue grows accustomed to spending most of her free time with Ronan curled in her arms, in intractable pain. He still goes to work, even though Adam is urging him to take medical leave. 

“I’m scared,” she whispers one night, as they all lay in the big bed. Ronan is already asleep, his head on Gansey’s chest.

“I know,” Adam says back.

“We’ll figure it out,” Gansey says, stroking Ronan’s dark curls.

“We better,” Blue says, reaching for Ronan’s bare side and brushing her fingers across his ribs, “for all of our sakes.”


End file.
